


(park that car, drop that phone) sleep on the floor, dream about me

by majesdane



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-19
Updated: 2009-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Seeing her was like falling.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	(park that car, drop that phone) sleep on the floor, dream about me

  
i knew there were things i should never find beautiful. like death. and girls.

\-- andrea gibson

 

 

 

Seeing her was like falling.

The first time Emily saw her was on a quite ordinary day in September, in the morning when she and Katie were standing around by their lockers with a group of Katie's friends, sizing up some boys a few feet away who were a form above them. Her hair was the first thing to catch Emily's attention; it was that bleached blond colour that Katie's slaggy friends usually sported. It looked different on her though, Emily thought, watching as the girl pulled books out of her locker.

(It only occurred to her after several long moments of watching that she didn't actually know the girl's name.)

But then she turned, shutting her locker with a loud bang, and in the smallest of instances, their eyes met. Emily felt her face grow hot even as something in her stirred, the faintest of tugs on her heartstrings. And then the moment passed just as quickly as it had come, the girl narrowing her eyes and walking away.

"Who was that?" she asked Katie, when Katie'd gone to the loo to fix her make-up and dragged Emily along as usual. "That blond girl, a few lockers across from us," she said, as Katie pulled a tube of cherry red lipstick out of her purse. "What's her name? I don't know her."

Katie said, in that matter-of-fact way that Emily hated, "That's Naomi Campbell. I heard she's a bit of a freak."

Emily wanted to ask what made people say that about the girl -- _Naomi_ , apparently -- since she seemed pretty normal and ordinary, from vague first impressions, anyway. But she'd learned early on that it was best to just not ask Katie a lot of questions about these sort of things.

 

;;

 

As it turned out, she had three classes with Naomi Campbell: Politics, Literature, and Biology.

Emily found herself keeping track of things like where she sat in comparison to Naomi (a row behind in Literature and Biology, two behind in Politics) or how many times Naomi raised her hand in class (it was usually a lot, factoring in all three classes; Naomi was impressively outspoken). For some reason, she felt the need to know everything about Naomi, despite the fact that they'd never actually spoken and it was most likely that Naomi didn't even know she existed.

But there was something about her -- Emily couldn't quite put her finger on it. All she knew is that one narrowed glance from Naomi in her direction would send her heart racing and she wouldn't be able to think clearly for the rest of the day.

 

;;

 

 

It didn't register right away, what everything meant.

Often times she found herself staring off at the back of Naomi's head in Politics class, thinking about how one day Naomi would come up to her during class and tell her she'd always found Emily intriguing. They'd become best mates after that, of course, Emily being the only one to break through Naomi's hard, cold exterior --

\-- Or so Emily imagined, anyway.

For her part, Naomi seemed rather indifferent. One time she said hello to Emily in the morning before Literature class and another time she asked about an assignment in Biology, but their interactions aside from that had been rather non-existent. Naomi was a loner through and through, it appeared, which meant that usually Emily was forced to observe her from a cautious distance.

She was beginning to learn other things about Naomi too, about how she always seemed bored of everyone and everything around her, how she took that ridiculous bag of hers wherever she went, how she never was without a book of some sort -- usually a classic, like Shakespeare, which Emily found rather cool, because no one their age was ever interested in that sort of thing -- and in the end, all of it added up to nothing.

In fact, Emily thought rather glumly one rainy day in Politics class, she didn't really know Naomi at all. Not the important things, anyway, she figured, while halfheartedly taking down notes from the board while the professor droned on.

Naomi crossed her legs at that point and Emily was temporarily startled out of her thoughts, becoming suddenly aware of the fact of just how _long_ Naomi's legs were, especially under that navy blue skirt that was part of their school kit. Most girls in their year had to hike their skirts up higher on their waists to show off a bit of leg; Naomi clearly didn't have that problem, Emily observed, and then blushed when she realized she'd been staring.

 

;;

 

When she finally worked things out, regarding her fascination with Naomi, it was both terrifying and wonderful at the same time.

She'd heard the word -- _gay_ \-- many times before, usually in a derogatory sense, ever since it had become Katie's new favourite insult when they were twelve, but never before had it even crossed her mind to apply it to herself. Only now had things begun to come clear to her, and suddenly it made sense, why she was never interested in boys like Katie was, why, even, she had such a complete disinterest in anything male (again, she thought, unlike Katie). What she found most surprising was that the fact had always been there, the truth about who she really was, but she'd just never had the insight to pick up on it before.

(This thing -- what she was -- was something she knew Katie could never find out about.)

 

;;

 

Her fantasies involving Naomi went further, after that.

Now she imagined their close friendship blossoming into something deeper, until one day Naomi would blushingly confess to being in love with her and they'd engage in a beautiful and passionate affair and everything would sort itself out and Katie and her parents and everyone else would be perfectly okay with this recent change of events.

It was a lovely daydream, of course. But that's really all it was.

Her other fantasies, the kind she indulged in at night when Katie was out, or in the shower sometimes, if she could manage it, were much filthier in nature. Those sharp blue eyes, that peroxide hair (which looked incredibly soft, even from two rows back), her lovely pink lips (usually turned down into a scowl) -- these were all the things Emily knew, had memorized every detail of. And despite the fact that the _rest_ of Naomi was covered up infuriatingly well by their school kit, Emily managed to come up with some rather vivid images in her head; it was strange, sometimes, because Emily was fairly certain that Naomi's hips weren't quite as curved or her breasts quite as full as her mind made them out to be, but it did make a lovely picture in her head.

(Things had been much better since she'd stopped forcing herself to think about blokes in that sort of way, Emily thought, as her hand slipped down the front of her knickers.)

 

;;

 

Months later, she managed a "Hello," in Naomi's direction, when Naomi passed her in the classroom on her way to her desk. Her heart beat madly in her chest when Naomi'd glanced over briefly at her and murmured a hello back, more interested in the book she's had her nose buried in all day -- something about 18th century European politics, which sounded, to Emily, incredibly boring. It was the littlest of things, completely inconsequential, but Emily spent the rest of the class filling up the margins of her notes with tiny hearts and feeling giddy.

Even Katie noticed.

"What's up with you today?" she asked, when they were in the bathroom in the break between the end of lunch and the beginning of afternoon classes, leaning forward and applying a fresh coat of lipstick."You've had that fucking ridiculous grin on your face all morning."

"It's nothing," Emily said, lying completely unconvincingly, and Katie gave her a curious look, but thankfully dropped the subject.

 

;;

 

Their first kiss doesn't go exactly as planned.

Sitting out on the back porch, nursing a watermelon flavoured Bacardi Breezer and staring out at the garden, Emily looked up when the back door was pushed open rather roughly and someone stumbled outside with a laugh. Brown eyes met blue ones, then, and Emily almost dropped the bottle she was holding.

"Oh," Naomi said, sounding surprised. "It's you."

"Yeah, it's me," Emily said lamely, and blushed at her own words. "Want to sit down?" she asked, after a minute, patting the empty space on the porch steps next to where she was sitting.

With a laugh, Naomi plopped down beside her, setting down her half-empty bottle of vodka only long enough to pull out a fag and light up, inhaling deeply. Emily found herself staring at Naomi's fingers, the gentle slope of her neck, the way Naomi's lips looked even softer than usual, in the dim light.

Naomi glanced over at her and Emily tore her eyes away, looking anywhere _but_ at Naomi, feeling her face grow hot once more.

"Sorry," she mumbled, gulping down the rest of her alcopop nervously.

"Whatever," Naomi shrugged, exhaling a mouthful of smoke and taking a long swig of vodka. "What's your name again? Emily, right? You're Katie's other half."

"We're in three classes together," Emily volunteered gamely. "Politics, Literature, and Biology."

Another swig of vodka. "I thought I recognized you. You're awfully quiet, aren't you. Not much like your sister then, I'm supposing."

"We . . . we like different things, Katie and I," Emily told her quietly.

"Good," Naomi said with an approving nod, blowing out smoke into the cool night air. Then, "I have to say, I'm rather pleased that you and your sister aren't so alike. The world doesn't need _two_ Katie Fitches in it. Besides," she added, flicking away the ends of her fag. "It would have been so disappointing if you'd turned out to be nothing special."

She thinks I'm special, Emily thought.

There was something in the way Naomi turned and gave her a drunk half-smile, the corner of her mouth curving up, how her hand was wrapped around the neck of the vodka bottle, the way their feet were almost touching, black Converses against red plimsolls, and it was just --

Emily leaned in and kissed her.

It couldn't have lasted more than a second or two, but her lips burned from touching Naomi's and it felt like that burn was spreading along her whole body, flames licking at her skin and insides. Naomi just closed her eyes and finished off the rest of the vodka before the chucking the bottle off somewhere into the garden; Emily heard the soft _clink_ as it landed.

And then Naomi turned and kissed her, pressed their lips full together. Emily's hands suddenly became foreign things to her and she didn't know what to do with them or where to put them. In the end, one settled on Naomi's knee and the other on Naomi's shoulder, very, very lightly. When Naomi sighed into the kiss, Emily felt her heart drop somewhere in her stomach.

"What the _fuck_ ," she heard someone say behind her and suddenly Katie was staring down at them.

 

;;

 

Katie'd been furious, of course, kept going on about how someone could have fucking _seen_ them and what the fuck was Emily thinking, snogging a girl like _that_ \-- snogging any girl at _all_ \-- and she should be fucking thanking Katie for intervening when she did.

Emily, in a rush of fear, told Katie that it was entirely Naomi's fault, that she was drunk and she'd been just sitting out on the back porch by herself when Naomi sat down. Which wasn't entirely untrue, but the part that mattered the most, the kiss, well, that was something that Emily just couldn't bear to be honest about.

Naomi, for her part, kept quiet about the whole matter.

In the weeks that followed, Emily tried to apologize, tried to explain just how fucking terrifying it was, the idea of the truth getting found out by Katie. But Naomi was good at avoiding people, as Emily was witness to, and no matter how many times Emily tried to approach her, Naomi always found a way to duck off before Emily could even open her mouth.

She finally managed to get out an "I'm sorry," one day; waiting for Naomi to come back to her locker to collect her books before heading off home, Emily rushed over and cornered her as best as possible.

"Whatever, Emily," Naomi said in a flat tone, somehow managing to make Emily feel ten times worse without even trying.

 

;;

 

But the thing was, Naomi never told anyone -- not Katie, not their classmates, no one -- the truth about what really happened. And as far as Emily was concerned, that had to count for something.

"Maybe," she whispered, in the night after Katie had fallen asleep.

Emily lay in bed and thought about that night, thought about the way Naomi looked, how her tongue had brushed just once, briefly, against Emily's bottom lip, how she'd tasted of vodka, how her skin had felt warm and soft under Emily's hands. She closed her eyes and thought about them one day making up; she'd meet Naomi after school per invitation, and Naomi would say she understood, how things were, and when Emily reached forward and pulled Naomi in by her tie, Naomi would just smirk and let herself be kissed.

(Naomi had kept her secret. And Naomi had kissed her, even if drunk.)

Maybe, Emily thought again, as she started to drift off to sleep. Maybe things weren't so bad after all.


End file.
